[open] light up your darkened dreaming

[cassassin]

who: Cassandra Cain and YOU!
what: Catch-all log. Sparring and whatever else as Cass acclimatizes to her new home.
when: April 10-May 10
where: All over.
warnings: Probably violence, references to child abuse, some language.

perimeter guard hq (Damian Wayne, both Captains America, any other sparring partners)

[The invitations had been clear each time. So, at the appointed times, she found herself at the Perimeter Guard HQ's training spaces. Her chosen gear for the spars was simple, a tank top and yoga capris, all in black. A lot of scars were clearly visible on her arms and around her shoulders, scattered all over. Old blade and bullet wounds of various age, old burns, that sort of thing.

She tugs her hair back, leaving her bangs in front as she ties the rest up.]

Ready?


wildcard

[Oooooor do your own thing!]

[hit me up if you want a starter and I'll put something in the comments for you! I'm at clockworkbrain or on discord at gigasatan#7576.]

Comments

[sonofab]

[ Damian was pumped, with Drake sick then moving out and Todd off being Todd, Damian didn't have many spar partners. At least not ones with Bat training. The Cain of his world was on a whole other level so he was curious to see what a Cain of a different caliber might have in store.

Judging from the marks on her body, he was in for an interesting fight. While his own body did have scars his own work out clothes covered them up. They were also tighter fitting to prevent snags.

He lets out an impatient little sigh as Cain fiddled with her hair. ]

More than ready. [ FINALLY! He drops into a stance. ]

[cassassin]

Good.

[Get ready, baby bird.

She smirks at him, then moves forward like a blur, ending up behind him. Cass throws an elbow towards Damian's back, then spins on her heel, aiming to take him off his feet with a sweeping kick.]

[sonofab]

[ That is Baby bat and-- Hey, where'd she go?

Even with his eyes on her, there was a brief moment where Damian losses track of her movements. He hears her behind him but she's quick and he doesn't duck the elbow to his head in time. It makes him momentarily daze, and the leg sweep makes him fall forward. He catches himself though turning the fall into a flip. One can thank Grayson for that kind of recovery.

Once back on his feet he quickly sweeps his legs out in a kick to her side. ]

[cassassin]

[Predictable. She leans far to the side, hand whipping out to try to catch him by the ankle to block the kick. If that succeeds, she's going to try leveraging it into a throw.

She can already see the League influence on how he moves, in his style. It's troubling.]

https://media.giphy.com/media/7yTqXVALy7Fwk/giphy.gif

[spellslots]

[Taako is absolutely not here to spar. He's at the HQ because Kravitz works here and while Kravitz might not need to eat, he certainly can, which is more than enough of a reason for Taako to show up occasionally with lunch. It's... nice, sort of weirdly domestic even if it feels too fragile at the same time. He tries not to think about it too much.

But lunch is done, Kravitz had to get back to work, and Taako's left idly hanging out at the headquarters on the off chance he spots Hana, or Cassian, or any number of people he knows that work for the guard.

He doesn't know the girl in black waiting in the training room, but that doesn't mean he can't be like, vaguely polite when he spots her. At least polite enough not to stare at the scars, despite the fact there's a whole lot of them. Even Magnus isn't that scarred up.]

You looking for someone, pumpkin?

[Maybe he can point her in the right direction.]

[cassassin]

[... This guy seems familiar, but she can't place it. She blinks and looks up when he speaks, nodding as she glances at her phone.

The lack of staring is appreciated, at least. She's not exactly self-conscious of her scars, or most of them, but they do tend to draw attention she isn't totally comfortable with all the same.

(Meanwhile for her part she's a little distracted by the more overtly elf-ish features Taako's got going on.)]

Um... yeah. Sparring partner. Steve Rogers? Guess he's late.

[spellslots]

[That's fine, he's used to the elf thing drawing people's interest.]

Oh, which one? Cause if it's the old one you're gonna be in for an easy session, even I could kick his ass.

[They had a play fight that no one really 'won' but Taako isn't going to let the truth get in the way of literally anything.]

[cassassin]

Both. Either? Forget which one is... which.

[Yeah Cass can tell them apart next to each other but she doesn't know the actual difference yet.]

[spellslots]

[Cass you're so fucking valid.]

You think that's bad, wait until you meet the Starks. At least one of 'em has gotta shave or something, it's fucking ridiculous, hand on my heart I don't even know how many there are. Three? Four? Twelve? It's the mystery of the ages.

[cassassin]

[cassandra cain is and will always be the most goddamn valid.]

If copies of my brothers get here? I give up. [... actually damian from her world might be more tolerable than the damian here, come to think of it. jury's out on jason. mostly she doesn't want to deal with alternate tims. and oh god what if another steph shows up. OH GOD WHAT IF ANOTHER HER SHOWS UP.]

[spellslots]

[Taako can't read minds, but he knows people fairly well and he can guess where this line of thought goes. He had the same one.]

Don't worry, darling, there's only one of most people here, it's only a few who get super lucky.

[/sarcasm]

[tempredmental]

[Keith gave a nod, sliding easily into his stance.]

Ready.

[He'd been training fairly often, as it was a way for him to pass time and keep his skills sharp and stay in shape... he had a lot of reasons.

He'd discarded his jacket in favor of just a t-shirt and pants, and he was wearing fingerless gloves. He didn't seem to be bothered by Cassandra's scars in the least. He'd gotten used to the idea of that by now with things back home, and being in the Perimeter Guard here was exposing him to a lot of people who were also in the same boat... some sort of fighting back home that left them beat up and scarred for their efforts... regardless of what that might be, so he didn't ask.]

[cassassin]

[Cass can relate, Keith. Training helps keep things focused, introduce some routine. Keeps her sharp. Definitely a lot of reasons. He may notice that some of the scars, bullet wounds included, seemed larger than they ought to be, like they had stretched over time. Like she was much smaller when she'd gotten them.

She just nods in response, starting off easy. Wanting to take Keith's measure without necessarily overwhelming him all at once. She still moves in very quickly, difficult to track with the eye as the gap closes. Her initial move is to throw out a couple of rapid Wing Chun-esque palm and forearm strikes towards his limbs and another burst towards center mass. Without missing a beat, she's following up with a Muay Thai-ish shin strike to his leg, aiming to unbalance him. Cassandra is pulling her punches, more than enough for a training session, but there's still serious force behind her attacks if they connect.]

[tempredmental]

[Keith wasn't using a particular style, but he was fast and agile, plus aggressive. He was willing to take a hit if it meant getting one in. However, like Cass, because they were training and sparring and this wasn't an all out fight, he also pulled his punches enough that there wouldn't be any major injuries. They'd likely both come out of this with bumps and bruises, a few aches, but nothing serious.

The lack of a major height difference actually forced Keith to balance his style a bit more as well. He'd gotten used to fighting opponents much taller and much larger than himself, which had caused him to go low with his strikes often, using his legs and taking shots at the torso of his opponent, but he found that he didn't need to compensate for that with Cass. It was a good change, and helped him find a few of his own weaknesses, places he'd fallen slack and out of practice in.]

[cassassin]

[Every fight teaches her. And Keith's approach is unusual, not something she's precisely seen before. There are moves she doesn't recognize in their execution, plus elements from fighting styles totally unknown to her. It's enough to throw her off at first. There's an almost unnatural fluidity to how Cass is moving, and as the match goes on, fewer and fewer of Keith's strikes connect, until she seems to be avoiding everything he has to throw at her. She more than matches his speed, blocking or dodging at nearly every turn, and only taking the occasional graze. Cassandra keeps weaving between blows as she watches him, her gaze analytical; aware of every twitch, every bone, every muscle. She's seeing and predicting the actions that he's just started to think about taking.]

Not bad. Fast.

[It comes out almost absently, but she means it. Cass starts throwing strikes in return, targeted shots to wear Keith down.]

But not fast enough. [On one of Keith's punches she ducks and reaches up to try to grab his arm, with the goal of throwing him onto his back.]

[tempredmental]

[The more Cass learned and dodged, the more frustrated Keith got. He hated not getting any hits, and it showed. His temper was his weakness and definitely a distraction. He felt her grab his arm and had just enough time to think 'oh quiznak' before he felt himself suddenly go airborne. He hit the mat flat on his back, but managed to recover fast enough to avoid a follow-up attack. Rolling several times to one side, he pushed back up to his feet.]

Thanks... I think?

[Like Cass, Keith wasn't much of a talker, so this sparring session was nice and free of distracting banter. Keith was enjoying the focus he could put into it.]

You learn quick.

[He had to admit that he was pleasantly surprised as how fast she had adapted to his rough and aggressive style. He seemed to have picked up a hodge podge of moves from various methods of fighting between training at home, getting into scuffles with classmates, fighting against Galra soldiers as a Paladin, and then training with the Blade of Marmora. He knew he wasn't a clean or polished fighter, but it got the job done, and that was what counted.

Of course, that also meant that he was also learning from her. Not as fast, perhaps, but he observing and taking mental notes on some of her moves, and was definitely willing to try using them back against her.

Regardless of the outcome, he was going to feel this later. For now, he dug deep to keep himself in the fight, keep moving, keep going, keep pushing... like it was another Trial. She definitely got her hits in, but Keith had an unusually high endurance for taking those hits. It was like a balance between them, and Keith found himself impressed... and he liked it.]

wildcard!

[latrodectus]

[ Natasha is dancing with the rest of the company, practicing in an empty theater before their next show premiers in two weeks. Without a real audience, the space seems cavernous.

Natasha isn't a principle dancer, she's with the corps de ballet, and so her role is mostly to provide scenery. And she's good at it. There's nothing immediately unusual about her. She matches the rest of the dancers as precisely as she can, her red hair in the same tight bun, wearing the same leggings and pale pink shoes.

At first they practice simple drills, leaps across the stage, runs of pirouettes en pointe. Then they move on to actual rehearsal, the recorded music echoing strangely in the empty hall. Because Natasha isn't a principle, she spends much of her time on the side of the stage, with the rest of the company, legs and arms stretched into casual lines. Most of the company watch the soloists practice. But Natasha notices something else.

Someone is watching. ]

[cassassin]

[Cass thought she wouldn't be seen. The dances had captivated her while she watched from above the stage, hidden in the rigging, in her Batgirl gear. She takes in every pirouette, each leap, every move. The specific stiffness of ballet wasn't a style that suited her in particular, but the beauty and expression to it kept drawing her in.

Her interest in classical dance had developed not long before coming to the Quarantine, and it had only increased here.

Sure enough, though, one of the dancers has seen her. A corps dancer, off to the edge. She meets her eyes, through the lenses of her cowl, though she doesn't move from her position. Not while there are eyes on her. So she stays a black silhouette, perched high above, though she tilts her head like a curious bird now as she watches.

Her primary focus had been on the soloists, but now this dancer in the corps has her attention. Definitely more than she seems.]

[latrodectus]

[ Natasha tenses, watching the strange, cowled figure— a change of posture so slight and so guarded that it might be imperceptable to anyone else. Thoughts that run through her head. Are the dancers in danger? Should she point out the silent watcher, or something more drastic?

No. The stranger has been watching for some time, and nothing's happened. Whoever it is could probably escape before the other dancers could find them. It would be like pointing out a ghost.

So, Natasha turns her attention back to center stage, where everyone is watching Mirelle perform. She's one of the company's strongest dancers, the most fluid.

She hasn't realized that she's been made. ]

[cassassin]

[She stays where she is for the time being, watching the rest of the practice bear out. Mirelle's motions keep her attention, but she can't take her eye off of Natasha now, either. There's certainty in how Natasha had looked at her, a knowledge that someone was there. Not just brief, vague awareness of a shadow.

As things begin to disperse, she starts moving in the rigging, eyes staying on Natasha when she does. There are still too many prying eyes around for her to drop down to properly show herself, but she's not leaving. Not yet. She'll wait to see what Natasha does.]

[latrodectus]

[ There's some time before the rest of the company is called back onto the main stage, and in the mean time leans against the bar set up for the other dancers, stretching her legs, keeping limber. She's trying to act unremarkable again, and she's very good at it.

When the time comes for her to dance, she executes her steps exactly. The director is unsatisfied with the first time through the routine, she makes them repeat the steps once, and then twice. There are orders she barks, too, sometimes directions to particular dancers— lift the leg more here, bend the arm just so. But Natasha escapes all commentary. Whatever else she may be, she's clearly a gifted dancer. Trained, too.

But at the end of the segment, she can't help but look to the rafters again. Her eyes don't immediately trace where Cassandra has moved through the rigging. But she's looking. ]

[cassassin]

[Natasha is clearly something else on top of being a dancer, that much is for certain. Cassandra sees the practiced nature of how she's carrying herself during her stretches, trying to blend in with the rest of the corps de ballet. It's a conscious effort. The work of someone who knows how to be as remarkable, or unremarkable, as a situation might call for. Trying to just be another figure in the scenery.

The impeccable form of her dance, on top of that curiosity, keeps Cassandra captivated during each cycle of the routine. After the first go at the routine, the principals have nothing left to show her, their moves already cataloged and learned. Naturally, as things progress, her attention shifts towards this woman who is clearly more than she seems.

As the rest of the company mills out, she sees Natasha watching for her. Cassandra moves to a slightly more visible position--still a spot where she wasn't liable to be noticed if someone wasn't actively keeping an eye aimed up there--and raises both of her hands in a mollifying gesture while looking directly towards her, crouched and perfectly balanced atop a steel cable strung taut above the stage.

She doesn't want to make the first move and spook her more than she already has--this feels a bit deer-in-the-headlights in both directions, she thinks--so she points downward a couple of times, exaggerated gestures to be seen clearly from the stage floor, to signal an intent to descend.]

[latrodectus]

[ Natasha crooks an eyebrow at the exaggerated pantomime, but holds her hands up, open-palmed, to communicate that she's unarmed. And that's true, she is unarmed— something she considers uncharacteristic. But Natasha hasn't brought weapons to ballet rehearsal, not since she arrived here, and was given this job. It didn't feel right.

At this moment she regretted her sentimentality, faced with an intruder of some obvious skill and unknown intention. Whoever it was didn't seem hostile, with the clear signals, and— asking permission? But in Natasha's line of work, appearances didn't count for much.

Still. There aren't too many ways to play this, and she has to make do with the choices she has. Natasha makes sure the rest of the company has left— a tilt of her head in the direction of the exit. Then she nods, signaling for Cassandra's descent.

Natasha also speaks. Not loudly, but in the near-empty hall, her voice carries. ]

Enjoy the show?